


Life of Shadows

by wilddragonflying



Series: WIPs that I really should finish.... [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khasitt's been fending for himself for a long time now. Occasionally, he'll help somone out for a few septims. When he finds a young boy in a house that was supposed to be empty, he never could have imagined that agreeing to look into a situation at an orphanage would take him down this path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life of Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> So. When I first started writing this, there wasn't supposed to be any relationships. Yeah... That lasted for the first couple of thousand words. Then i realized that Babette and Khasitt were getting closer, and not just as friends. So, I decided to mess with Babette's story, just a bit-- she's not a ten-year-old, as she appears in the game; rather, she's closer to fourteen or fifteen. I realize that she's over 300 years old, but it was still bothering me that she had a ten-year-old's body, so I aged her up just a bit before she got turned.
> 
> Also, Khasitt is in no way the Dragonborn-- there some other random dude/girl out there who's absorbing dragon souls and all that shit. Idk who, and it doesn't particularly matter; maybe I'll have Khasitt have a run -in with him/her in another story, but this one focuses on how Khasitt joined and then became the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, and how that affects him.
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes; if you see any, feel free to tell me. I started writing this after I was nearly finished with the Dark Brotherhood questline in Skyrim, and I haven't played any other Elder Scrolls games(though I really, really want to.), so some things will obviously be different there; if there's anything major wrong, please correct me so that I can keep this story as much like the canon as possible. I made up some of the backstories(tweaked the Night Mother's and made up Babette and Khasitt's), so those will definitely be different from anything in the canon, although I don't think that there's anything really canon and not just speculation about the Night Mother and Babette.

Khasitt glanced around furtively, looking for any unexpected guards. He didn't think that any more guards would pass for the next several minutes; they tended to stick to the same patrol. Still, this _was_ Windhelm, and you never knew when an incompetent thief hoping to impress a local member of the Thieves Guild would accidentally alert some guards.

Granted, Khasitt was attempting to break into the old Aretino place, to see if maybe there were any goods left. But he was more experienced in these matters than most Khajiit; most of the cats attempted to make good names for themselves as merchants, and some made their living as mercenaries for hire. Khasitt could not easily talk with other races, he was not very skilled with anything besides his claws and the small enchanted Daedric dagger he had pickpocketed off of an adventurer, and the only magic he could perform was to conjure up some flames and to heal himself. Khasitt, however, had discovered that he had a soft touch and a good feel for picking locks and pockets, and had managed to survive this long as a petty thief, taking only what he needed to survive; a few pieces of gold here, an apple there, and occasionally a pretty piece of jewelry to sell with a faked story about a family heirloom.

Khasitt had traveled with a merchant caravan to Windhelm, claiming he was visiting family; the caravan had provided protection so that Khasitt would not need to travel the roads of Skyrim alone. He had not attempted to make friends with any of the caravan, choosing to stay in his place next to one of the wagons, and sitting a bit farther from the fire than anyone else. Relationships, friendships, they never brought anything but pain in Khasitt's experience.

Khasitt shook his head quickly, refocusing on the matter at hand. He needed to pick the lock. It was a simple lock; a few adjustments to the pick, and the lock turned easily. The young Khajiit eased the door open, grateful for his dark fur and clothing; they would help to camoflauge him as he moved through the abandoned--

Khasitt stopped, the door swinging shut with a soft sound behind him. There was someone else in the house. Khasitt quickly unsheathed his dagger, holding it in his right hand as he unsheathed the claws on his left. He crouched, his tail slowly flicking side to side behind him as he eased his way up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. He almost did on a couple of boards, but thankfully he was naturally light on his feet, always had been.

The thief stopped when he could peer over the edge of the floor next to the stairs, most of his body still hidden. He silently cursed when he saw that the other intruder was blocked from his view by a wall. Khasitt took a moment to study the rest of what he could see, planning out his route; he liked having a plan. Most of the furniture had been removed, except for a bed and the fireplace; there was an old, beat-up iron pot by the fireplace. The only available light was coming from the next room, and Khasitt quickly edged up the stairs and around the unblocked wall, staying in the shadows as he crept to the doorway. Peering around, he almost gasped at the scene laid out on the floor of the next room.

There was a circle of candles surrounding a skeleton, and kneeling in front of the skeleton was a young human boy-- he was not yet in puberty, if Khasitt was not mistaken. He did not seem to pose a threat, but Khasitt did not unsheathe his dagger as he stepped forward; the boy glanced back when Khasitt cleared his throat, and then leaped to his feet, a wide smile on his face.

"I knew you would come! I knew if I performed the Black Sacrament the Dark Brotherhood would come! I prayed and I prayed, and now you're here!" the boy clapped his hands in delight, and Khasitt looked at him curiously. He had never heard of this 'Black Sacrament', although he had heard of the Dark Brotherhood. The boy was speaking again, though. "My name is Aventus Arentino; my dad left and my mom died from sickness. I was sent to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften, and the headmistress is called Grelod the Kind, but she is not kind! She is a horrible, cruel woman, and beat us and starved us if we didn't bow down to her. I managed to escape, and I want her dead, I don't want my friends to suffer under her!" Khasitt made no sound, simply looked at the boy; that seemed to be all the encouragement Aventus needed. "So I came back here, this is my house, I'm the last Aretino left, and I did the Black Sacrament, over and over, with the body and the... The things. And you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!" Clearly, the boy was mistaken-- Khasitt was no assassin; he had only killed one man in his life, and that was years ago, when his family first died. "I want you to kill Grelod! I will pay you," the boy said, looking at Khasitt earnestly. Khasitt hesitated before nodding; this woman, this Grelod, sounded absolutely horrible-- what could it hurt to check out the place, the situation, and see if there might be something that Khasitt could do? Aventus did a little dance, grinning like an idiot. "Oh, thank you! Please, tell me when she's dead? I want to see my friends again." Khasitt nodded again, before turning and leaving; he didn't try to take anything on his way out. He wasn't about to steal from a fellow orphan.

On his way back to the stables, Khasitt managed to pickpocket just enough money for a wagon ride to Riften, where he'd found the Honorhall Orphanage was located; he'd spun some cock-and-bull story to a guard about looking for the son of a friend, wanting to be sure that he was in a good place. The guard had looked at him funny, but Khasitt had drawn himself up, hoping and praying that he could pull this off, and demanded to know if it was a crime for a Khajiit to be friends with a Nord, now? The guard had apologized and told Khasitt what he wanted to know.

The wagon ride was uneventful, and by nightfall Khasitt found himself in Riften. He wrinkled his nose at the smell; the canals were awful. Still, after asking around, using the same story(no guards questioned him this time; rather, they all looked at him with pity in their eyes and told him that if his friend's son had ended up in Honorhall, he better pray that he got adopted soon), Khasitt managed to find the orphanage. The door was unlocked; not surprising, considering it was only just past eight, and the Khajiit slipped inside.

All of the children were gathered in what appeared to be a common room, listening to a woman berate them-- Khasitt assumed that this was Grelod the Kind. Judging from her words, her name was purely ironic. She called the children riff-raff, and told them that they would never be adopted. She told them that they were _lucky_ to live here, with a roof over their heads-- Khasitt could not stand her, and he had only been in her presence for five minutes. How had these children not mutinied yet?

Khasitt found an unused closet and quickly hid in it as the children readied themselves for sleep; he didn't want to confront this woman with the kids awake. After all had been quiet for almost an hour, Khasitt eased the closet door open, slid out, and then shut it just as quietly. A couple of blinks was enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, negating the need for a torch of any kind. Khasitt crouched, bouncing lightly onto the balls of his feet, and started looking for Grelod's room. It was easy to identify; clearly, the woman used the majority of the funds designated for the orphanage for her own comfort. Khasitt's ears flattened in anger, and he had to consciously stop himself from growling. Khasitt shut and locked the door behind him, noting the window; it locked from the inside, so he quickly unlocked it, leaving it open for a quick escape should that prove necessary. Then Khasitt unsheathed his dagger, laid it at Grelod's throat, and slapped her.

She awoke with a shout that Khasitt quickly muffled with his hand; he leaned down into her face, baring his teeth in a snarl. Her eyes widened with fear, and for the first time, Khasitt was glad of his unusual appearance; Khajiit were rare in Skyrim, and rumors abounded about them, but none could deny that when a Khajiit was pissed, they were an intimidating sight. "You are supposed to care for the kits in your care," he hissed. "And instead, you beat them and abuse them with your words. This one learned of your crimes from one of these kits, one that was clever enough to escape. Khasitt observed your behavior for himself, and a quick death is more than you deserve. Be grateful that this one cannot spare more time to make you suffer as you have made these kits suffer." A quick jerk of the arm, and the enchanted dagger left a deep gash in Grelod's throat, the blade's magic pulling her life force with it. The only sound Grelod made as she died was a choked-off gurgle, and Khasitt spared a moment to wipe his dagger on her bedsheets. He quickly stepped over to the window, hauling himself up and out of it in one quick, smooth motion; he shut it behind himself, to provide the illusion that nothing was wrong. He had noticed that all the windows were shut, and assumed a window left open for a long period of time would draw attention.

He was careful to walk casually, not too quickly, and stopped to chat with a couple of people; in short, he behaved as if he had not just killed his second person, as if he was simply out for a night's stroll. Luckily the few pickpockets on the streets steered clear of him; he did not want another conflict, and was glad of the rumors that spread of the treatment of thiefs who had been caught stealing from Khajiits. He stopped at a shop that was still open, selling a few lifted pieces of jewelry for the wagon fare back to Windhelm.

The wagonmaster recognized him. "So, did you find that boy?" he asked conversationally as Khasitt climbed in the back.

Khasitt nodded. "Yes. The kit believes that he will find a home soon, and this one believes so as well."

The wagonmaster hummed. "I've heard Grelod the Kind is tough on adoptive parents," he commented.

Khasitt hid his small smile in the shadows of his traveling cloak's hood. "This one believes there will be a change in the orphanage soon," he returned. "There were rumors that Grelod would not long be in control of the place."

The wagonmaster nodded. "Good."

***

The rest of the ride passed quietly, and Khasitt made his way straight to the Aretino house once he arrived in Windhelm. The lock was easily picked again, and he slipped inside, walking up the stairs without quite as much caution as he had exhibited the first time. Aventus was sitting on the bed, but jumped up when he spotted Khasitt. "Is she dead?" he asked eagerly. "Is Grelod dead?"

Khasitt nodded. "Grelod breathes no more," he confirmed. Aventus whooped in joy.

"Oh, great! Here, your payment-- you should be able to sell this for a pretty penny," he said, holding a small object out to Khasitt. The Khajiit took it gingerly; it was a small amulet. "It's an old family heirloom; I have no use for it, but you can sell it."

Khasitt pocketed the amulet. "Thank you," he murmured, inclining his head and turning to leave; the human kit paid him no attention as he left, and Khasitt made his way to the inn. He took a room for ten septims, and made sure to lock the door behind him before he settled for bed.

***

Khasitt awoke slowly, blinking sluggishly as he frowned at the ceiling; that was not the same ceiling he'd closed his eyes on when he fell asleep. As he gradually became more awake, he looked around; it appeared that he was in an old shack of some sort.

"Oh good, you're awake." Khasitt's eyes snapped to the figure sitting on top of a rickety bookshelf. It was female, judging by the voice. "You took one of our contracts," she continued. "And well, we can't have that; you owe us a debt."

Khasitt frowned. "A debt?" he asked carefully.

The woman nodded. "Yes. I am Astrid, leader of the Dark Brotherhood. You took one of our contracts, that of the one to kill Grelod the Kind. Well done, by the way; waiting until she was asleep before slitting her throat," she added, nodding in respect at Khasitt, who had pushed himself to his feet and was patting his pockets; she didn't appear to have taken anything from him.

"Where is this?" he asked.

Astrid shrugged. "No matter. You will not be leaving here until you have repaid the debt." She gestured to the other side of the room; kneeling before the fireplace were three figures with sacks over their heads, their hands bound behind them. "One of those poor sods has a contract on their heads. It is up to you to figure out which one, and to kill them." Astrid was watching him sharply as he considered the situation.

"There is no choice," he said slowly; it wasn't a question. "None of them will leave this place alive, will they?"

Astrid's face remained impassive, giving away nothing, and Khasitt carefully approached the hostages. The first was a mercenary, the second an abrasive woman, and the third was a Khajiit, also a thief. After speaking with the hostages, Khasitt drew his blade, taking a step back and considering them carefully, twirling the dagger between his fingers. He didn't look back at Astrid as he thought. Which of these would he kill? _Could_ he kill any of them? He supposed he could attempt to kill Astrid, but he had little experience in combat, and if she was the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, she would not have gotten there without fighting for it. Letting his gaze return to the hostages, Khasitt had the sneaking suspicion that he was right-- none of these hostages, regardless of whether or not they had a contract, would leave this shack alive.

After another moment's consideration, Khasitt took a deep breath and walked up behind the mercenary, pulling his head back to expose his throat; one quick slash, and the mercenary crumpled, blood leaving the wound sluggishly. He repeated the process on the woman, who shouted and struggled, before coming to stand behind the other Khajiit. "You are Khajiit," the hostage said suddenly, not turning his head to look at Khasiit. "I can smell the desert on you."

"This one has not felt the sand under his feet for many seasons," Khasitt returned, grabbing the bag and forcing the other Khajiit's head back. "I suppose I should thank you," he said. "For making this quick, and for letting me hear the voice of one who speaks the native way."

Khasitt shook his head, placing the blade across the Khajiit's throat. "Do not thank this one," he replied. "This one is nothing worthy of thanks." Before the other Khajiit could reply, Khasitt quickly drew the blade across his throat, severing both artery and vein; blood flowed freely from the wound, soaking the fur of the Khajiit's neck. Khasitt let the body fall, looking at the corpses lined up on the floor, blood pooling under them. He had just killed three more people. That made a total of five, now. Khasitt cleaned his blade before returning to Astrid, who had left the bookcase and was now standing on the floor. 

"You killed all three; aren't we the overachiever," she smirked.

Khasitt returned her gaze evenly. "This one does not trust you," he said simply. "A quick death is better than torture."

Astrid chuckled. "You may come to change your mind," she said, still smiling. "Here." She handed Khasitt a key. "The key to this shack; head south of here, just off of the road leading west from Falkreath, and find our Sanctuary. There will be a passphrase-- 'Silence, my Brother.'" Astrid studied him. "You have repaid your contract, and I like the way you work. If you wish, I can offer you a place in our Family." Khasitt didn't answer, simply nodded to her and left the shack.

***

It took him a few days to fight his way back to the road; he lost count of the number of bears and wolves that attacked him. On the upside, he now had several pelts to sell. If he talked to the right people, he could get quite a lot of gold for them. He managed to flag down a passing wagon and buy passage to the hold they were traveling to. It was Falkreath, and Khasitt wondered at the timing; that woman, Astrid, had said that the Sanctuary was located a bit west of Falkreath. There were a couple of other passengers in the wagon, but they quickly stopped attempting to make conversation with Khasitt after he turned his back to them and curled up in a corner, pulling his cloak around him and feigning sleep.

***

He actually did fall asleep, and only woke when the wagon jerked to a stop outside of Falkreath. Khasitt was the first to disembark, and he headed for the nearest store, bartering to sell the pelts he'd collected. He also managed to wrangle directions to the town's blacksmith, who he spoke to about selling the amulet Aventus had given him. He managed to get a decent bit of gold for it, some of which he spent at the inn on food, proper food and not simply foraged herbs and roasted meat. Afterwards, he found himself at a loss as to what to do. He had killed four people for this 'Dark Brotherhood', and the leader wanted to recruit him. If he did join, he would inevitably have to kill more people. Khasitt was not sure if he wanted to do that; he had never really wanted to kill anyone, but the feeling he got when he could almost feel someone's flesh parting beneath his blade... It was something that he could get addicted to; it was a powerful feeling, a rush.

Without realizing it, Khasitt had already embarked on the road leading west. He hesitated, and then decided that it couldn't hurt to check out this Sanctuary.

***

Khasitt was a bit surprised at how easily he found the sanctuary; it was almost as if he were being drawn to it. The door leading in was macabre; there was a skeleton seated in the lower left corner, skulls piled in the lower right, and a large face with a bloody handprint in the middle of its forehead took up the majority of the remaining space. As Khasitt reached out to touch the door, a voice spoke, and he jumped back with a sharp yowl of surprise. " _What is the music of life_?" the voice asked, echoing and hissing. 

It took Khasitt a moment to remember the phrase Astrid had told him-- "Silence, my Brother," he answered, his voice slightly shaky.

There was silence for a moment, and then, " _Welcome home._ " The door swung inward, and Khasitt didn't hesitate this time; he stepped forward and into the dark passage beyond. The door swung shut by itself, and Khasitt paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust before continuing down the passage. A sharp turn led him to a small room with two tunnels branching off of it; there was a table with a map of Skyrim laid out, knives stuck into a few places. Khasitt passed it, and noticed Astrid leaning against the wall of one of the tunnels.

"So, you decided to come," she said in greeting, straightening and smiling at Khasitt. "We were beginning to wonder what had become of the promising young Khajiit."

Khasitt felt his ears prick forward in interest. "'We'?" he echoed.

Astrid nodded. "Our family is not as big as it once was, but it is large enough." Astrid looked at Khasitt intently. "Do you intend to make it one member larger?"

Khasitt hesitated for only a moment before nodding-- if being an assassin meant that he had to kill people in order to have a secure, safe place to rest, then he was willing to make that trade. Astrid grinned, turning to a shelf behind her and retrieving several articles of clothing. "Then welcome, brother. This armor is enchanted, and will help you pass undetected in order to carry out your contracts more efficiently." Khasitt accepted the clothing, changing into it when Astrid gestured for him to do so. "I am arranging a job for you," she said as Khasitt changed, "but there are still a few details to be arranged. In the meantime, intoduce yourself to everyone else, and then speak with Nazir. He will have a few minor jobs to keep yourself occupied until my job is ready for you."

Khasitt nodded, adjusting the new armor; it fit almost like a glove; he'd have to make a few minor adjustments. "This one must introduce himself, and then speak to Nazir," he repeated, and Astrid laughed.

"'This one' may want to learn to speak like us," she advised. "Your accent is very distinctive."

Khasitt frowned thoughtfully, but didn't comment before following the sound of voices down the hallway to an inner chamber. There was a small waterfall and pool as well as a shooting range and several training dummies next to a forge and grindstone. Several people were gathered around a small girl, who was telling a story. "And then, he goes, 'What-- _your teeth!_ " she said, imitating this mans squeal. "He tasted very good," she finished, laughing; the rest joined in.

"Ah, Babette, it is a wonder most people still trust children," another man laughed. "The number of men you have killed with that ruse and your tooth."

An Argonian spoke next. "Babette, you have the most kills of us all," he grinned.

"That's not hard, when you're 300 years old and a vampire," a big man with bare feet and an ax strapped to his back chuckled; the rest of the people laughed as well. Then the girl seemed to notice Khasitt.

"Ohh, there's a new kitty here," she said cheerfully. "Did Astrid use the 'choose the one with a contract' on you?"

All eyes turned to Khasitt who would have flushed if he did not have fur. As it was, his ears flattened uncertainly; he never liked being the center of attention. "She did," he confirmed. "This one knew none would leave the shack alive, and he slit all three throats."

"Ohh," the Argonian breathed. "First time someone used that justification."

One of the men spoke next; he was dressed as one of the humans from Khasitt's home desert might be. "Usually they only choose one, or say they wanted to be on the safe side," he commented, looking at Khasitt curiously. "What is your name, Khajiit?"

"Khasitt," he answered.

"Mine is Nazir. The fellow with the axe is Anbjorn, Babette is our dear little girl there, the Dunmer is Gabriella, the old fart--" There was indignant spluttering from the 'old fart' in question "-- is Festus Krex, the lizard is Veezara, and you've met Astrid already.

"She's my wife," Anbjorn cut in. "Deadly out of bed, and nearly so in bed."

Khasitt snorted at the crude words; Anbjorn just laughed. "This one would imagine so," Khasitt said, surprised at himself for speaking. "But Khasitt has no inclination to find out in either case."

"Why do you speak so?" Gabriella asked, stepping closer. Khasitt looked at her curiously. "I have heard no other Khajiit speak as you do."

"This one grew up in Elseweyr; all Khajiit speak so," Khasitt answered. "Khasitt left when his parents were murdered by Nords."

"Got a score to settle? That why you joined our lovely little family?" Festus asked.

Khasitt shook his head, a small smirk on his lips. "This one long ago settled his score. One Nord died by his own claws, the rest were fed to trolls." The gathering laughed, and Anbjorn spoke.

"I don't like cats as a rule, but you-- you are the exception," he chuckled. When Khasitt tilted his head in question, he elaborated: "Werewolves don't usually get on with Khajiit."

"Well, this is a lovely conversation," Babette interjected, "but I have things to do." There was a chorus of agreements, and the gathering split. Khasitt followed Nazir.

"Yes?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Astrid told Khasitt to speak with Nazir," the Khajiit said. "She said he would have contracts for this one."

"Well, I don't know that you'll be able to complete them, but I suppose I can always pass them on to someone else if you fail," Nazir said, eyeing Khasitt doubtfully. "As it happens, I have three contracts. Ennodius Papius, Narfi, and Beitild. They're fairly easy contracts spread out over Skyrim; you'll probably spend more time traveling than killing."

"It takes but a moment to kill," Khasitt retorted, and Nazir chuckled.

"True, in most cases," he agreed. "Very well. Narfi is a beggar living outside of Ivarstead. He'll be an easy kill. Ennodius Papius is a paranoid bastard who lives in Anga's Mill, and Beitild is a divorcee who runs a competing business against her old husband. He's the one who took the contract out against her."

Khasitt nodded. "Very well. This one will return when he has returned with news of the deaths." Nazir chuckled.

"Good. May Sithis guide your blade, brother."

***

Nazir hadn't been kidding about the amount of traveling; it took several days to reach his first contract in Ivarstead. Despite the open location, it was easy to sneak up behind the beggar Narfi and kill him from behind; a slit throat, the easiest and quickest way to ensure the target was dead.

Khasitt made a quick escape, though it seemed that the guards did not care about a murdered beggar. Which was all well and good, as far as Khasitt was concerned. His next stop was Anga's Mill, to kill Ennodius Papius; that required another few days of traveling. Luckily it was only a short detour from the route to Dawnstar, where he would have to kill Beitild. Khasitt arrived at night, and found Ennodius sleeping in a tent; he used a nearby length of rope to strangle the man this time. He could not always slit throats; Khasitt may be new at this, but even he could tell that it would not be good to always kill by the same method. The man struggled, but Khasitt was stronger than he was, and simply pulled the rope tighter about the man's neck. When the man finally stopped struggling, the Khajiit lowered his body to the ground before looting it; this would look like a bandit attack, or maybe a Thieves Guild member gone too far.

***

Beitild would be the hardest one yet; her house was in the middle of Dawnstar, and she spent most of her time on its porch, in plain view of at least two guards. Khasitt took a couple of days to study the town, learn the guards' patrol routes, and plan his escape once Beitild was dead. He also took this time to prepare a poison, which he coated his dagger with before leaving the inn and making his way to Beitild's house. The dagger would drain away some of Beitild's life force, and the poison was a paralytic; she would be unable to move, even to speak, while she bled out.

For a woman who had clearly made more than a few enemies, Beitild had not taken extra steps to secure her house. This was good for Khasitt; he was able to pick the locket after only one broken lockpick. It had been old, anyway. Khasitt darted inside, searching for Beitild's bed; she was laying on her back, spread-eagle, and snorting. Khasitt hesitated, debating where he should strike; after a few minutes, he decided the best route would be to stab from her gut and up under the rib cage. First, he tied a gag around her mouth so that she would not be able to scream before the paralytic worked its way through her body; it was a delicate process, but apparently Beitild was a heavy sleeper. Khasitt drew his arm back, dagger with glistening, poison-coated blade in hand, and struck swiftly. The blade cut through the fabric with ease, and parted the skin, muscles, and organs as if they provided no more resistance than butter. Beitild jerked awake, screaming behind the gag, and Khasitt danced backwards, ready to strike again if need be; he shouldn't have worried. The poison followed her blood to her brain, freezing each body part it came in contact with. By the time it reached her brain and froze that, as well, Beitild's body was contorted grotesquely on the floor. Khasitt nodded satisfactorily to himself, but he didn't leave just yet; he needed to be sure that she was dead. It didn't take long; Khasitt wasn't sure which, ultimately, was the cause of her death-- the wound or the frozen brain-- but soon enough she stopped breathing, and did not start again.

Khasitt escaped under cover of darkness, and headed back to the Sanctuary. He was once again riding the rush of power that came from taking another's life; it felt even better, now that he had killed three more people. Khasitt had to work hard to keep himself from smiling maniacally and giving himself away.

He hired a wagon to take him to Falkreath, and then walked to the Sanctuary; the door seemed to recognize him as he approached, and opened on its own. After Khasitt passed, it shut as well. _That certainly is handy,_ Khasitt observed as he headed deeper into the Sanctuary; inside, he was greeted by the sound of voices. One was new, and obnoxiously exuberant. Khasitt hung back while Astrid and the stranger-- who referred to himself occasionally as "Cicero"-- talked; apparently Cicero had brought the "Night Mother", whoever that was, to the Sanctuary, and Astrid wasn't exactly happy about that. After they were done, Khasitt approached Astrid, who spent a few moments angrily muttering about Cicero before saying, "I finished arranging that job for you. You are to travel to Markarth; there, you will speak with Muiri, the local apothecary's assistant. She will tell you who to eliminate, as well as any special instructions she wishes for you to follow. Represent us well, brother." Astrid then walked off, and Khasitt watched her go, his skin almost crawling with unease. 

He gave himself a shake before seeking out Nazir for his payment for the three contracts he had fulfilled; he received much gold, over 1,500 septims' worth. Khasitt asked Nazir about Cicero. "What do you feel about this new man and the coffin he brings?" the Khajiit asked, looking at Nazir intently. "Astrid does not like him."

Nazir shook his head. "That doesn't surprise me. Cicero brings the Night Mother's coffin, and he is looking for the Listener. That would ruin Astrid's way of running things."

Khasitt frowned. "How so?" he queried. "Astrid is leader of this Family; she says so herself, and everyone follows her. How can this... Listener ruin things? And who is the Night Mother?"

Nazir glanced around to make sure they were alone before he answered. "The Night Mother is the one who speaks with Sithis; when someone completes the Black Sacrament, they pray to Sithis. He tells the Night Mother who has prayed, and then she chooses whose prayers to answer. But the Night Mother is a corpse-- a magic corpse, but a corpse nonetheless. She can only communicate with the Listener, someone blessed by Sithis as she was."

"How was she blessed by Sithis?"

"She prayed for children, and then sacrificed them all to him."

Khasitt blinked. "Killing her own kits?" he asked, shocked. "Why would one do such a thing?"

"The Night Mother was betrayed by one of the Daedric Princes. He left her with a belly heavy with child, and she did not want it, or any reminder of him. Sithis told her if she sacrificed three of her children to him, he would bless her and help her get her revenge on the Prince. The Night Mother bore triplets, and killed them all in the name of Sithis. He helped her with her revenge, and since she had pledged herself to him, he took her as his woman for a while. When he tired of her, she agreed to help his following-- the Dark Brotherhood, the ones who sent Sithis more servants than any other group. Thus she became the Night Mother. _Our_ Mother."

Khasitt considered the story. "One would hope that kits would be considered precious, in Skyrim, as they are in Elseweyr. The opposite seems to be considered the truth," he observed.

Nazir chuckled dryly. "Aye. These Nords consider children only burdens until they grow old and big enough to either bear more children or to fight or carry out a trade," he confirmed. Khasitt snorted.

"This one is glad he is Khajiit, and not Nord, then," he returned. "Else this one's kithood would be even worse than it had been."

Nazir outright laughed at that. "I like you, cat," he grinned. "Do you know how to use a weapon?"

Khasitt shook his head. "This one knows only how to use his claws and dagger. He can poison a blade or meal, move unseen and enter those places barred to others, but he cannot fight with a big weapon."

Nazir nodded as if that settled some matter. "Then I shall teach you to fight-- it will be good for you to know how to wield something that can do more damage than that sneak-blade of yours."

Khasitt inclined his head in thanks, and followed Nazir out to the training dummies. The man handed him a sword-- "Only a simple sword, first. Don't want you to accidentally injure yourself with an enchanted blade, cat."-- and helped Khasitt adjust his grip and stance before telling him to attack the dummy. He corrected Khasitt's form several times, sometimes physically with the help of a staff, and worked the Khajiit hard. Khasitt was so focused on the training that by the time Nazir called a halt to it for the night, he was startled by the crowd gathered around him and the dummy. He nervously shifted from foot to foot, his tail twitching in agitation as he glanced around; he caught Astrid's eye. The woman nodded before saying, "The rest of the Family will help train you, Khasitt. You have time to train before you must travel to Markarth." Khasitt nodded in thanks, and then she left; the rest of the Family immediately converged on him, wanting to know how skilled he was in the various aspects of fighting and killing and crafting. By the time they departed, Khasitt had a new, full schedule for training. Nazir clapped him on the back. "By Sithis, you'll be the most well-trained of us all!" he announced, laughing. "Come, cat; let us eat."

***

Khasitt spent the next several days hard at work training; each night, he would go to sleep sore, and if he was still sore in the morning, he would cast a quick healing spell. Gabriella had been helping him with his magick, Nazir handled fighting with one-handed weapons, Anbjorn with two. Festus taught him how to enchant weapons, and Babette helped him create better, more effective poisons, as well as their antidote. "More than one fool has poisoned himself as well as the target," she'd said, laughing, when Khasitt had asked why she was teaching him the antidotes. It was a fair point, Khasitt had to admit. Veezara taught him archery, which surprised Khasitt a bit; he would have thought Gabriella would have taught him that. Veezara had laughed when Khasitt ventured a comment about that. "Gabriella's as likely to take out her own eye as to hit the target," he chuckled. "She is good with magic and a blade, but not so much with a bow and arrow."

Khasitt rarely saw Astrid, and when he did, she was usually watching the Family or Cicero; it was easy to tell which, depending on her expression. She seemed content, smug almost, when she was watching her Family. She was always frowning in anger when she was watching Cicero. Khasitt steered clear of the jester; he didn't want to accidentally invoke Astrid's wrath.

It was about a week and a half since he'd completed his first contracts that the rest of the Family proclaimed his skilled enough to go to Markarth. Khasitt took their advice gladly, listening carefully as each member imparted their wisdom to him. When he left the Sanctuary, Khasitt headed to Falkreath, hiring a wagon to take him to Markarth.

He arrived after dark, and after asking around, was directed to Silver Blood Inn, where Muiri lived. He found her after a few moments' snooping, and approached her from behind. She was bent over a desk, muttering to herself as she glared at a tankard of what Khasitt guessed was ale; when Khasitt laid a hand on her shoulder, she jumped and screeched, spilling the ale over the front of her dress. "What in the name of Talos do you mean by-- " she started angrily, but stopped abruptly when she noticed Khasitt's clothes. "So it's true, the Dark Brotherhood still exists. You heard my prayers?"

Khasitt considered saying that he knew of her plight only through news of her performing the Black Sacrament, not through any prayers, but settled on nodding instead. It was the simpler option. A grin spread across Muiri's face. "Well, I have one target, and one... Optional kill, I suppose you could call it," she said. "Your main target is Alain Dufont, an ex-lover of mine. He is the leader of a group of bandits who live in Raldbthar. That's where you'll find him."

Khasitt nodded. "And the optional kill?" he asked.

"Nilsine Shatter-Shield, who lives in Windhelm," Muiri answered, a sadistic glint in her eyes.

Khasitt was silent for a moment. Then he asked, his voice soft, "Why do you wish for these people to die?"

Muiri's eyes sparked, and Khasitt wondered for a moment if she were partially mad. "Alain seduced me to get close to the Shatter-Shields," she spat. "Their daughter had been killed, and he wanted to rob them. When he did, the Shatter-Shields blamed me, even though I was like a daughter to them. So now I want them to lose their only other daughter. Maybe then they'll see why they shouldn't have thrown me away!"

Khasitt did not respond beyond a sharp nod, but Muiri still spoke. "Here. I made these poisons-- Lotus Extract. It'll help kill them quicker, but more painfully." She handed two bottles to Khasitt, who pocketed them carefully. "If you kill Nilsine, I'll give you a bonus."

Khasitt nodded, and then made his way out of the inn. As he walked back to the wagon, Khasitt thought over the story that Muiri had told him. It was sad, yes; Khasitt did not think Nilsine's death would bring the effect Muiri was hoping for, but he could understand the sentiment, the anger, of losing those whom one called 'family.' As for Alain, a user of women was a bad man, especially if the man laid with the women only to use them to obtain some other goal other than pleasure.

The wagon ride to Windhelm was interrupted only once by a band of bandits; Khasitt and a few of the other men dispatched them easily enough. They were poorly trained, and overly cocky; they didn't even have an archer.

Khasitt made his way to the Shatter-Shields' home once he arrived in Windhelm; it was the middle of the day, and Khasitt was not yet confident enough in his abilities to attempt to carry out an assassination in broad daylight; instead, he used the time until dark to reconnoiter the area. He waited until he had seen the Shatter-Shields-- according to the townsfolk, there were just the parents and the daughter left-- enter, and then waited until the guards had patrolled past twice before letting himself into the home with a key he'd pickpocketed out of Tova Shatter-Shield's purse. Khasitt cleared the first floor, making sure there was no one there, before slowly climbing up the steps to the second.

He paused when he could see, and carefully looked around; Nilsine was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, drinking what appeared to be a cup of tea. In the next room over, Khasitt could hear her parents shifting in their bed; with any luck, they were asleep, and would not notice their daughter's death. Khasitt unslung his bow from around his chest and shoulder, and drew an arrow; Veezara had lent him one of his enchanted bows. This one was enchanted with a frost spell, designed to freeze the target. The Khajiit carefully nocked an arrow, taking a few slow, deep, even breaths as he aimed the arrow at Nilsine's neck; if he hit it just right, she would be dead before she hit the floor.

With a silent, almost unconscious prayer to Sithis to guide his arrow, Khasitt drew back the string, adjusted his aim slightly, and let the arrow fly.

It landed with a meaty _thoonk_ , a bit closer to Nilsine's spine than Khasitt would have preferred, especially since the force of the impact was enough to knock the girl forward, her tea cup crashing to the stone of the hearth, her head landing just so on one of the spikes that held the logs in place. The spike pierced through her eye and into her brain, killing her instantly. Unfortunately, the killing made more noise than Khasitt had anticipated, and when he heard the last two Shatter-Shields stirring in their beds, he swore under his breath and fled towards the door, stowing his bow as he went.

He barely made it to the alley before guards were swarming the area, alerted by the woman's scream, and he swore under his breath. Khasitt took only a moment to scan his surroundings; there was a ledge that he could use to reach the roof, and from there he could make his way over the town to the wall and escape. Double-checking to be sure everything was secure, Khasitt jumped for the ledge, catching it in his hands and using his legs to push off of the wall and up onto the ledge before jumping for the roof. Once he was up there, he took a second to catch his breath. The Khajiit glanced over the edge of the roof to where the Shatter-Shields were huddled in the streets, clinging to each other; the woman was sobbing, and the man's face was stony. Khasitt felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but shook it off; guilt had no place in an assassin's life.

He stole across the roofs and made it to the wall with little trouble. He dropped to the ground, rolling to lessen the impact, and approached the stables with feigned nonchalance. "This one would like to rent a horse," he said to the owner.

"Fifty septims," the man said, looking at Khasitt curiously, probably because of the accent; once Khasitt handed over the money, he nodded to a girl, who disappeared into the building, presumably to get a horse. "You hear that commotion?" the owner asked, looking at Khasitt curiously.

Khasitt nodded. "This one heard it on his way out of town; a woman screamed, and guards took off. Wonder what made her scream."

The owner shrugged, taking the reins of a grey mare that the girl led out, fully tacked. "Reckon we'll find out in the morning. You headed out to hunt?" Khasitt nodded; best to let the man draw his own conclusions. Khasitt would be slightly less memorable this way. "Well, good luck, and may your arrows fly straight."

Khasitt nodded in thanks, taking the reins and swinging up into the saddle. He clucked encouragingly to the mare, who snorted and rocked into an easy canter.

***

Khasitt dismounted as he approached Raldbthar, tying the mare to a tree; Gabriella had taught him a simple ward that would keep hostile animals away, and he set it up around the mare; he'd rather stay in stableowners' good standings. Khasitt double-checked his quiver, counting his arrows; he had seventeen. He pulled out his bow, holding it in one hand; he made sure that he had his dagger as well, just in case he had to get in close quarters. He set off towards the entrance, crouched down to stay in the vegetation. He took out the two guards, retrieving his arrows from their bodies. Inside the hideout, he took out a few more bandits; one was positioned so that he was forced to use his dagger rather than his bow, and when he made it to the inner chamber where Alain was waiting with two other bandits, Khasitt waited in the shadows of the hallway, waiting to see if there was anything he could use to do this quietly. He noticed that they were standing on an oil slick-- a very _flammable_ oil slick. Smiling softly, Khasitt called up a handful of flames, and tossed them onto the oil, which caught fire immediately. Alain and his companions screamed in pain, and Khasitt took the opportunity to take out the collateral with his bow. As the fire died, Alain was laying on the ground, his breath wheezing through his lungs, as Khasitt approached. "Who're-- Who're you?" Alain asked, coughing. Khasitt looked at him dispassionately, tilting his head to the side. This was the man who ruined a woman's life, ruined a family's life, along with countless other crimes.

After a moment, he withdrew his dagger and knelt beside Alain's head. "This one is the one who sends you to Sithis," he said simply, drawing the dagger across Alain's throat. The bandit gurgled, blood bubbling over the charred skin, and then his entire body relaxed as he died.

Khasitt cleaned the blade and retrieved his arrows before making his way out of the hideout. He found the horse unharmed, chewing on a mouthful of leaves; he chuckled at the comical picture the mare made. "C'mon, girl. Let us return you home."

***

Astrid was waiting for him when he arrived back at the Sanctuary after collecting his payment from Muiri. "Encounter a bit of trouble?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

Khasitt shrugged. "This one could have aimed his arrow better," he admitted. "But still Khasitt escaped across the roofs like a thief. No guards saw him as he left."

Astrid nodded. "As long as you weren't caught. If you're caught, you must pay your bounty or serve your jail sentence. The Brotherhood cannot help in that." Khasitt nodded in understanding, and Astrid continued, "Now, I wonder if you could do me a favor. Cicero has been meeting with someone near the Night Mother's coffin; he goes there regularly, and he speaks with someone. I want you to find out who."

Khasitt frowned. "Where will Khasitt hide?" he questioned. "He assumes Astrid does not wish for him to be found while he is spying upon the fool."

Astrid chuckled. "You're an odd cat," she commented, grinning. "There is only one hiding spot-- in the Night Mother's coffin."

Khasitt made a face at the thought of sharing a coffin with a corpse, but the corpse could not hurt him. He nodded, and Astrid nodded back, stepping aside so that Khasitt could make his way to the room that housed the coffin. It was easy to pick the lock, and Khasitt stepped into the coffin and closed the door behind him. The coffin smelled musty, and Khasitt shifted so that he wasn't pressed against the mummified corpse as much. He heard Cicero enter a few minutes later, and then the jester began speaking-- He wasn't speaking to anyone living, but rather to the Night Mother. Khasitt frowned, straining his ears to make out Cicero's words, and almost jumped out of his skin when he heard, " _Poor, sweet Cicero. He is so good, and he tries so hard, but he cannot hear me._ " Khasitt looked around, straining to pick up the slightest trace of light; it was impossible, locked in the coffin as he was. " _But you can hear me, can't you, my child?_ " The voice was rasping, and seemed to come not from any external source, but rather it echoed inside Khasitt's head. " _Yes, you can-- You are my Listener, Khasitt. You can hear me, you can hear my instructions._ "

 _The Night Mother was speaking to him._ Khasitt's heart was about to beat right out of his chest, and he felt like he was going to collapse.

" _Do not fret, Khasitt. I have heard the prayers of my children, all those who have performed the Black Sacrament. I have instructions for you._ "

 _Instructions?_ Khasitt wondered, bewildered.

" _Yes, instructions. You are to meet with Amaund Motierre in Volunruud. He has an elaborate contract for the Brotherhood, one that will bring us great prestige._ " the Night Mother murmured as Cicero sounded like he was winding down. " _Go now. Tell Cicero 'Silence has come', so that he knows the search is over. And watch over our Brotherhood; I fear for the safety of my favored children._ "

"Ah-ha!" Khasitt jumped when he heard Astrid's voice, fumbling with the coffin's doors. "You treacherous snake, who have you been conspiring with?"

"Cicero has done no conspiring!" the Keeper protested shrilly as Khasitt managed to open the doors and almost fell out of them.

"Cicero speaks the truth," Khasitt said, panting; he could feel his fur standing on edge from the encounter with the Night Mother. "He has been speaking to the Night Mother, but she could not speak back, for Cicero was not the Listener. This one is."

"You?" Cicero screeched. "How can you be the Listener?"

Khasitt looked Cicero dead in the eye. "Silence has come."

"Silence... Has come?" Cicero repeated. "Silence has come! It is true! The cat is the Listener!"

"This one spoke with the Night Mother-- she gave the Brotherhood a contract," Khasitt said as Cicero did a happy little dance. "She wishes for this one to travel to Volunruud, to speak with Amaund Motierre."

Astrid frowned. "It is good that there is a Listener," she said sharply, "but I am still the leader of this Family, and I give the orders. Do not go to Volunruud, go speak with Nazir. He should have more contracts for you. I... Need to think about this." With that, Astrid spun on her heel and stalked off, leaving Khasitt standing in front of the open coffin, bewildered. The Night Mother had spoken-- surely She had more authority than Astrid? His gut clenching with unease, Khasitt sought out Nazir. He found the man in the kitchen, sitting at the table and eating.

"Astrid sent Khasitt to retrieve more contracts," the Khajiit said, sitting down across the table from Nazir.

Nazir finished his mouthful. "I heard about your last one-- Nice shot, knocking her onto the spike and letting that kill her. Bit obvious that it was murder, but the contract didn't call for subtlety."

Khasitt shrugged. "An accident," he replied truthfully. "This one was aiming for the vein."

Nazir grinned. "Still a damned good shot. Now. I have two contracts for you. One is for a vampire in Half-Moon Mill, named Hern. It's a prejudiced kill-- he and his wife have been living there for years, and most of the townfolk don't like them. The other is for a bard, name of Lurkbuk. He's currently in an inn in Morthal, and I'm not sure why someone wants him dead. Probably because he's a terrible bard. Annoying bastards, I don't like them. Anyway, you have your contracts. I'll pay you when you return with them completed."

Khasitt nodded in understanding, hesitating for a moment before asking, "This one wonders what Nazir thinks of Cicero and the Night Mother."

Nazir looked at him curiously. "I follow Astrid, but if the Night Mother finds another Listener, they would definitely deserve to have a voice in which contracts we accept. After all, when people perform the Black Sacrament, they are praying to the Night Mother."

Khasitt nodded again. "This one will depart soon for Morthal-- it would be better to kill the bard while his location is known," he announced, standing. Nazir nodded and returned to his food as Khasitt left the kitchen through the tunnel rather than the stairs; he almost ran over Babette, who was on her way into the kitchen. "Khasitt gives his apologies," he murmured, stepping to the side.

"Not so fast," Babette laughed, turning to face Khasitt. "I accept your apology, but where are you going?"

"Nazir has given this one two contracts-- one for a bard, one for a vampire," Khasitt answered. It occurred to him that it could be insensitive to mention that he was going to kill a vampire, but Babette didn't mind. She simply grinned.

"One less bard in the world-- good," she said cheerfully. "So, I heard Astrid had you camp with the Night Mother to spy on Cicero. What happened?"

Khasitt hesitated before answering. "Khasitt found that Cicero was speaking with the Night Mother, though the Night Mother could not speak to Cicero in return. Instead, She spoke with this one, calling him the 'Listener,' and giving him instructions, which Astrid has forbidden him from following."

Babette's eyebrows rose. "Truly? I didn't think even Astrid would be that stupid, defying the Night Mother."

Khasitt shifted uncomfortably. "Astrid did not truly forbid this one from every following the Night Mother's orders," he said awkwardly. "She asked that he wait while she thought, and that he complete other contracts."

Babette frowned. "Still, the Night Mother gave you orders. She is our Mother; we should follow her. Even if her Keeper is that crazy old jester."

Khasitt felt his lips quirk in a half-smile at the vampire's words, and Babette smiled in return. "This one would like to speak with you when he returns-- he knows little of Skyrim's history, and he thinks one who lived it can give him more information than a collection of papers can."

Babette laughed. "I can," she confirmed. "Most of it I heard while traveling for contracts, but I'm over 300 years old; I've seen a lot of history. Heard a lot of it, too. I was old enough when I was turned that a lot of men are... Very talkative, when I show them certain things." Babette smirked, and Khasitt's ears flattened in embarrassment.

"A-A useful thing, Khasitt is sure," he stammered, and Babette laughed.

"Aw, Khasitt, did I embarrass you?" she cooed, smiling at him. Khasitt muttered under his breath and turned his back on her, continuing down the tunnel and out of the Sanctuary.

***

Both contracts were easy to complete; the bard, Khasitt killed in his bed at the inn. The vampire was a bit trickier; Khasitt finally hid in an abandoned shack, and shot the vampire through the throat as he walked across a bridge; he'd made sure to use a silver arrow, and had had it blessed by several priests of different deities, just to be on the safeside. He died with an agonized shriek, his body collapsing onto the bridge; the wound smoked slightly.

Khasitt returned to the Sanctuary as soon as he was done, and Astrid intercepted him before he could talk to Nazir to receive his payment. "I've finished thinking," she announced. "It would be pure madness to ignore the Night Mother. So I want you to travel to Volunruud, talk to Motierre, find out who he wants assassinated."

Khasitt wanted to say something, but as he was unsure what, exactly, he settled with, "This one will do so."

Astrid nodded as if she was satisfied. "Good. Go get your payment, rest up; it's a ways to Volunruud," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared down a tunnel.

Khasitt stayed where he was for a few more moments, thinking. He was uncomfortable around Astrid-- had been uncomfortable around her for a long time, even before she ordered him to delay carrying out the Night Mother's orders. She was... Hungry, in many ways. Still troubled, Khasitt found Nazir in the kitchen once more and collected his payment before climbing the steps to the ledge, following the tunnels to the secluded cavern he had chosen as his bedroom. He was lost in thought as he rounded the last corner, and when he spotted Babette sitting on his bed, he just about jumped out of his skin. " _Kasith a-nara!_ " he hissed, glaring at Babette. "Babette almost sent this one to join Sithis out of his fright."

Babette let out a peal of laughter. "What did that phrase mean?" she questioned, looking at Khasitt curiously. "I've never heard it."

Khasitt shrugged, depositing his bow and quiver on the table, settling into the nearby chair to remove his cowl and shoes. "It is an old Khajiit curse-- very rarely is it used outside of Elseweyr."

Babette watched Khasitt intently. "You never said exactly what happened with your parents-- only that you killed those responsible."

Khasitt was quiet for several long moments, long enough that Babette began to apologize; she stopped when Khasitt held up a hand. "This one was born deep into the desert," he started. "The second of his litter; Khasitt was the middle birth. His parents were members of a small clan, one that lived farther from towns than most others. It was good, to grow up so close to other members of the clan. It would have remained good, if there had not been a band of Nord soldiers traveling nearby. They cared not for Khajiit, called all Khajiit animals who pretended to be men. This one's clan provided them with food, shelter from the desert for a night, even though the Nords were disrespectful." Khasitt paused for a moment to collect himself; he couldn't look at Babette, instead studying the small flame in the lantern on the table. "In the night, the men attacked. They locked all doors, barred them from the outside, and blocked many windows before setting fire to the buildings. Many Khajiit were trapped, and those who escaped were killed by Nordic swords. Khasitt and his brother and sister managed to escape unseen; this one's siblings joined another clan, but this one never felt comfortable with the Khajiit his siblings had chosen, and so left on his own. While traveling, Khasitt encountered the same Nords who killed his clan, and came up with a plan to get his revenge. He led the men on a chase into a gathering of trolls, and then killed the leader with his own claws before leaving the men to be food for the trolls."

Silence descended after Khasitt finished, eventually broken by Babette's soft words, "I had just turned fourteen when my father was attacked. We lived in Skingrad, in Cyrodiil. This was during the Oblivion Crisis. Father liked to take me and my sister with him when we went hunting; we were both good with arrows and knives, and often we could sneak up on prey when he couldn't. One time, we weren't the only hunters in the forest. There was a vampire, completely blood-starved. He drained my father and sister, and tried to do the same to me, but he was too full. Instead, he left me for dead. I made it to the Gold Road, where a passing merchant found me. He took care of me while I healed, but I had been infected, and turned soon after that. My first kill was the merchant; as it turned out, he had a contract on him, and the assassin from the Dark Brotherhood came looking for him; he found the body, drained, in his wagon. I was there, sleeping, and when I woke up, the assassin was waiting for me. He asked if I was the one who drained the merchant, and I nodded. Next thing I know, I'm training with the Dark Brotherhood. After the Oblivion Crisis was taken care of, I started working my way north to Skyrim. I arrived here about a century ago, and I've made Skyrim my home. The Dark Brotherhood's been my family for as long as I've been a vampire."

Khasitt was quiet for a moment. "And your mother?" he asked softly.

Babette shrugged. "She died of sickness the year before I was turned. I never had much in common with her; I was too much like my father. It was my sister who bonded with Mother."

Khasitt nodded; he could understand favoring one parent's company over the other's. Neither one spoke for several long moments, and when this silence was broken, they spoke only of the history of Tamriel, not their own personal history.

***


End file.
